


Conflict of Interest

by MsPrufrock



Category: Daredevil (TV)
Genre: Attempt at Humor, Gen, Lawyer characters being lawyers, Legal ethics rules and superheroing, Matt Murdock needs to think before he Daredevils
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-12-21
Updated: 2017-03-14
Packaged: 2018-05-08 04:05:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,431
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5482643
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MsPrufrock/pseuds/MsPrufrock
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Wait. What?  Everything that’s wrong with this situation--”  Here, Foggy paused to sweep his arms emphatically around the office as if to encompass everything in the immediate vicinity  “—and your sticking point is a rule of professional conduct?”<br/>“Ethics are very important,” Matt responded.  “We’re a self-regulating profession.”</p><p> </p><p>Matt faces some unique dilemmas as an attorney-slash-vigilante.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is what happens when I watch shows with characters who are attorneys: I can't turn my law-brain off and end up thinking about Matt Murdock trying to reconcile the rules of professional ethics with being a vigilante. 
> 
> This may or may not be amusing to non-lawyers, I have no idea.
> 
> Have mercy, this is un-beta'd (though if anyone would like to volunteer to beta, send me a message).

_Model Rule of Professional Conduct 3.7:_  
_A lawyer shall not act as advocate at a trial in which the lawyer is likely to be a necessary witness…_  
  


Matt tried very hard to do the right thing, whenever possible. Driven by the need to make his father proud and make something worthwhile of his life, the desire to be a decent god-fearing person, and the knowledge that he could help others in a way that not many were able, he strived to make the right choices. Figuring out what was right and what was actually helping others could be a challenge – and his difficulty in making these decisions caused him to seek Father Lantom’s counsel more and more often in the days after he first put on a mask to protect his city.

Nonetheless, he aimed for what was right. Sometimes he fell short. Sometimes, though, it seemed so easy for his fist to hit exactly the right target.  
This particular target has just set himself down in the center of a bullseye.

***

It’s never exactly safe to walk down a street in Hell’s Kitchen alone in the middle of the night, but 2:30 in the morning on a Tuesday might very well be one of the least safe. Most businesses are shuttered, save a few bars up and down the street. Regardless, even the bars are mostly deserted this long after happy hour, populated only by the most steadfast regulars. Give it a couple more days – any time from Thursday to Saturday— and the bar scene booms (relatively speaking) and grants a little more safety through sheer numbers. Given the choice, a wise resident of the Kitchen would choose a weekend night every time.

Unfortunately, sometimes the safer choice is not available.

A man in his thirties emerged from a door leading from the kitchen of a sports bar into a narrow, meagerly lit alleyway off of 47th Street. The thud of pots and pans, sound and smell of meat sizzling on a grill, and the faint scent of dish soap followed him out into the night air before the door shut solidly behind him. Grease still clung to his skin and clothes though his shift was finally over. A few ones and a couple five dollar bills – his share of tips from the night—formed a small lump in the back pocket of his frayed jeans.

He drew in a long breath of the relatively fresh night air before heaving a sigh, digging a cigarette and lighter out of another pocket and beginning to make his way west. As he took a drag of his cigarette, the influx of nicotine allowed his tired nerves to calm slightly. He began to wind down from the night as he turned north onto 10th Avenue and trudged by Hell’s Kitchen Park.

After a couple minutes, another person began walking in his direction. The first man didn’t notice, even as the second person got steadily closer and drew a switchblade from the pocket of his coat.

Lights reflected dimly off of a small bus stop enclosure, and the red light of a security camera positioned over the front awning of a bodega blinked on and off. 

One moment, the second man had gripped the first man by his shoulder and was lifting the knife, opening his mouth to demand his wallet and cash. The next, a third person came plummeting down from a second story window to land solid blow and knock out the would-be assailant.

For a few moments, the first man looked frantically between the unconscious man, the knife that landed a few feet away, and the man in the red and black devil costume. He didn’t bother to make any kind of verbal response before immediately running away, trying to cover the three remaining blocks to his apartment as quickly as possible.

Though it would have been nice to receive some gratitude for his help, Daredevil gave a shrug and parkoured away once he heard the man shakily unlock a door a few blocks away.

***

Maybe the guy was right not to thank him, after all.

Matt sometimes liked to follow up with the people he helped, especially if they didn’t make it to a police station or hospital in the immediate aftermath. 

So, early the next morning, he casually made his way over to the building the would-be mugging victim had entered the previous night. He meant to just check for his heartbeat in his apartment, but instead stumbled upon the conversation of a couple of his neighbors.

“—cops were here a few hours ago. I was coming in from a cigarette before I had to start getting Luke ready, y’know, when I saw them banging on his door.”

“No! I know he’s had a hard time keeping out of trouble for so long, but since he started going to meetings a few months back he’s been trying so hard!”

The first woman lowered her voice, suddenly conscious of other nosy neighbors who might be listening in. “Here’s the thing, though – it wasn’t drugs. I heard them accusing him of assault; they were saying he beat a man unconscious on the way home from work last night.”

Matt felt his stomach drop. _Fuck._ He left the building behind before he could hear anything else, and started brainstorming how he could fix his mistake.

***

It was a good thing he had so much practice putting on a brave face and pretending his injuries were negligible, because he was putting every second of that acting experience to use now. The 15th precinct was busy as ever as he tapped his cane and made his way to Brett’s station. He had no real idea what he was going to say, but he hoped in vain he would come up with something at the last second that would justify his presence there as he tried to sense where the unfortunate victim from last night was being held.

Brett looked up from his paperwork and frowned as Matt approached.

“Murdock. I didn’t expect you to get here so quickly.”

Matt paused for half a second before deciding to plow forward with whatever the Sergeant was talking about.

“I had some time this morning.”

“Right. Anyway, like I said in the message I left—we got another guy in this morning I thought you and Nelson might be interested in. Luis Almeida. Simple assault. He’s claiming that he’s not guilty, that Daredevil did it and booked. Seems fishy to me, the suspect has a pretty decent rap sheet and it's awfully convenient he had a run-in with an anonymous masked dude who disappeared without anyone else seeing him.”

Matt hummed noncommittally. “Innocent until proven guilty,” he reminded Brett with a smile. “So, vigilante hit and run?”

“That’s what he’s saying. Kind of an asshole move, if it’s true.”

“No argument from me if someone were to call Daredevil an asshole to his face for that one.”

“Yeah. Anyway, I assume you’re taking it since you’re here.”

He fidgeted with his cane and shifted slightly before responding. “We’ll definitely represent him, but I’m afraid I can’t help personally with this one. This’ll be mostly Foggy’s case.” Matt fished in his pocket to pull out one of Foggy’s business cards. “Can you give this to him and let him know Foggy will be here as soon as he can? I’ll head back and fill him in on all the details.”

***

Bright and early on a Tuesday morning, and Foggy sat at his desk, just enough natural light coming in to the office through the glued-shut windows to brighten up the rooms and not give him a headache from squinting. It was still entirely possible for him to develop a headache from some other source, however. Case in point: the boxes of brand new empty file-folders and redwells, sitting empty and waiting to be filled with documents and evidence for their as-yet-hypothetical clients.

Granted, they’d had a few clients—Karen, Sketchy McMurderson, Mrs. Cardenas, and a couple others—but the trouble was, Foggy could still count the clients Nelson and Murdock had had on his two hands. When he came in this morning, he thought they might have another when he saw the blinking light of the answering machine—but the message turned out to be some kind of distorted static-y sound (obviously, there were still some issues to work out with regard to the phone lines in their office).

In his desperation for some paying clients, Foggy found himself reevaluating the whole “particular about our clientele” thing.

This was why, when Matt slunk in at quarter after nine that morning, Foggy found himself absorbed in 18b application forms, and too distracted to comment on his partner’s tardiness.

“Hey Matt,” began Foggy, “what do you think about applying to be assigned counsel, just to drum up a little business until we’re a little more… not completely broke?”

“I don’t think so,” he said.

“No, just hear me out,” continued Foggy. “I know we wanted to be able to choose our own clients with your not at all dubiously ethical lie-detecting abilities, but we’d be providing a valuable service to the community! Everyone should have access to zealous representation regardless of income, right? Just cast your mind back to _Gideon!_ And think of all the bills we’ll be able to pay and times will be able to avoid representing ourselves in eviction actions!”

“No,” Matt said. “I found a case.”

Without hesitation, Foggy threw down the application. “Yes! Paying clients!”

Matt was conspicuously silent for a beat too long. Foggy narrowed his eyes. “Matt—”

“It has to be pro bono.”

“…Murdock.”

His partner shuffled to his office, but Foggy kept his eyes narrowed on him and, after a moment, followed him in and leaned against the door jamb, blocking his exit—unless he wanted to take a dive out the window which, judging from his increased fidgetiness, was looking more and more likely. A minute or so later, Matt ran out of things to pretend to do to avoid acknowledging his partner. He leaned against the desk and faced Foggy’s general direction.

“I, uh, may have been… out last night.”

Foggy crossed his arms and hummed noncommittally. 

“And I may have prevented a mugging.” 

Foggy was unimpressed and stayed silent.

“By knocking the mugger unconscious… for which our client was subsequently blamed and arrested for assault.” 

Foggy groaned and collapsed back against the door frame.

At this, Matt fished around his desk and handed a complaint to Foggy. He scanned the document quickly, catching the client’s name, charges, and the police report that detailed the statement by the alleged victim, one Robert Clark, who claimed Mr. Almeida came up to him out of the blue, with no provocation, and brained him with a pipe.

“He really used the word ‘brained?’ Okay,” said Foggy. “Okay. Fine. It’s not the guy’s fault you’re an idiot, we can take his case pro bono.”

“I can’t represent him,” Matt said. “I’m a material witness.”

Foggy looked up from the complaint and fixed his friend with an incredulous stare. He might not see it, strictly speaking, but he knew he could feel it. Matt fidgeted a little.

“Wait. What? Everything that’s wrong with this situation--” Here, Foggy paused to sweep his arms emphatically around the office as if to encompass everything in the immediate vicinity “—and your sticking point is a rule of _professional conduct?_ ”

“Ethics are very important,” Matt responded. “We’re a self-regulating profession.”

He was looking at Foggy with a serious, sober expression on his face, but he knew him well enough to detect the tiny twitching of his eyebrows and lips that meant he was fighting to hold back a grin. He was probably smiling with his eyes behind his glasses. 

“You’re an asshole, Murdock. Stop smizing. You never think I can tell, but I can.”

Matt laughed. “Ah, yeah, ‘smizing.’ I always forget about that. How’s the latest season of America’s Next Top Model?”

Foggy refused to acknowledge his embarrassment though he could feel his face growing warmer. Practicing the better part of valor, he retreated the few feet to his own office. Matt followed him.

“I wouldn’t know. I haven’t watched it in years. I can check with Marci if you’re interested.”

“I’ll keep that in mind. But seriously, I can’t co-chair on this. I – Daredevil’s testimony is necessary for Mr. Almeida’s case.”

“You’ve taken on clients before where you were – implicated. What about Hoffman?”

“That was different. He was never going to trial and besides, I just persuaded him to turn himself in. He didn’t need Daredevil to corroborate anything.”

“Uh huh.”

Foggy huffed out a sigh and sank in to his chair.

“Okay. Let’s say, for the moment, that I agree to take the case. How exactly are you going to testify? Are you planning to appear in court?” He pretended to pause, as if in thought. “How many warrants are out for Daredevil’s arrest at the moment?”

“There are about 16 charges pending, at last count,” Matt said without missing a beat. “I know I can’t show up at court, but I could put something in writing for evidence.”

“Something in writing?”

“Yeah. I can draft an affidavit saying I’m the one who assaulted--”

“An affidavit! Great. Who should we plan to have notarize that?”

This brought him up short. Finally. “I, uh...”

“Maybe I can do it, right? I have my notary stamp and everything.” Foggy made a show of opening up a desk drawer and taking out the stamp, setting it on the desk with a _thunk_. “I know you’re Daredevil and not _just_ an anonymous weirdo in a mask and devil horns. I’m sure it won’t occur to anyone to ask how defending counsel is able to verify the identity of a wanted vigilante or anything.”

Matt shoved his hands in his pockets and slumped a little. “Yeah. I get it. Thanks.”

The pair sat in silence for a few minutes. “There’d still be some issues as far as verifying my, uh, identity. But maybe we can work out some way to depose me, independently.”

“And what happens when the DA objects because they haven’t had the opportunity to cross-examine? I don’t think it’s gonna work, buddy. We’ll have to figure out some other way of clearing Almeida.”

The other man finally sat down. “You’ll figure it out.”

Foggy lobbed the notary stamp at him.

Only Karen’s timely entrance –and her announcement that she decided to splurge on bagels for the office that morning— kept Foggy from following up the stamp with his stapler.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who reviewed and gave kudos! 
> 
> I have no real excuse for why this took so long- this has become a little longer than I was anticipated (I think it will end up being around 3 or 4 chapters total), but I'm also very slow to write sometimes, and easily distracted with real life. I'll try to put up the remaining chapters more quickly.

Thanks in part to Brett’s willingness to keep referring probably-innocent clients to Nelson and Murdock in exchange for his mother’s cigar stash, and in part to Matt’s (in this instance, well-deserved) Catholic guilt, Foggy had actually gotten the heads up about Mr. Almeida relatively soon after he was taken into police custody. This meant that he was able to make it to the 15th precinct in time to have a quick meeting with his new client, convince him to at least let him represent him for his first court appearance if nothing else, have him sign a pro bono retainer agreement, and scrape together everything he needed for the arraignment. 

Foggy argued valiantly for him to be released on his own recognizance, making a strong case that Mr. Almeida had a job, a lease, connections in the community—trying to tick off all the boxes to show he was a minimal flight risk. Unfortunately, while all those things were true, it was also true that he had a few prior criminal convictions for drug possession under his belt and that he was currently being charged with a class c felony, and the judge flat out refused to release him without bail. In the end, Foggy was able to persuade the judge to set bail at a few hundred dollars rather than a few thousand, but that was the most he could do.

After making sure that Mr. Almeida knew somebody that could post bail for him or that he could arrange to post it himself (he might have offered up assistance with posting bail as a last resort, but the dearth of clients at Nelson and Murdock also resulted in a dearth of funds so he tried to avoid that if at all possible), Foggy asked his client to contact him to set up a meeting as soon as possible and then made his way back to the office.

Foggy was perhaps a little louder than necessary as he stomped up to the third floor walk-up office, but after such a long morning filled with non-billable hours, he figured he was entitled to a little petulance. If his stomping annoyed Matt, then all the better.

It was not his erstwhile partner he saw when he opened the door, however. Instead, Karen turned to him with a bemused look on her face.

“Hey Foggy,” she greeted him. 

“Hi. How goes it? I miss anything exciting while I was out?”

“It goes. If anything exciting happened, I think I missed it too. The office has been pretty quiet since you left this morning.”

“Oh yeah?” He glanced at Matt’s closed office door and scowled a little. 

She followed his gaze. “Matt’s been doing research all morning—he had me looking up some evidence rules he said might help with a new case. He just closed his door a few minutes ago.”

Foggy let his shoulders slump and he fairly fell into a chair next to Karen’s desk. Without a word, she passed him an everything bagel he had eyed but hadn’t had time to eat before he rushed over the fifteenth precinct.

“I made sure there was some strawberry cream cheese leftover in the fridge as well, if you haven’t eaten.”

“Bagels, glorious bagels,” Foggy half sang to himself and went to raid their tiny and unreliable fridge. “You’re a saint, Karen. Don’t let anyone ever tell you otherwise. I’m going to write your hagiography myself. ”

He was slightly disappointed that didn’t raise a smile from her, but only a distracted hum. With a shrug, he shoved half the cream-cheese covered bagel in his mouth and made his way over to his own office to look over the notes from the arraignment and his short interview with Mr. Almeida. He had just tugged the file and notepad out of his briefcase when he noticed Karen hovering in the doorway.

Her eyes darted over at the wall dividing his and Matt’s office, and she put her hands on her hips.

In a hushed voice, clearly trying to keep Matt from overhearing, she asked, “You two aren’t fighting again, are you? You were both acting weird when I came in this morning and now he’s shut himself in his office and you seem a bit, uh, prickly.”

“No, no, it’s cool, we’re not in a fight,” he quickly moved to reassure her. “It’s just— it’s about this new case. Luis Almeida—our new client— was charged with an assault apparently committed by Daredevil, and we disagreed at first about the particulars of how we’d represent him.”

“Daredevil?”

“Almeida.”

Karen let her hands fall from her hips and her expression relaxed at Foggy’s explanation. Foggy knew that she had been miserable when he and Matt had their falling out and suddenly felt terrible about making her worry again. She nodded, pushed a strand of hair behind her ear, and then put on her “bamf secretary” face.

“Okay. Good. So, what are the particulars?”

“Another pro bono case, I’m afraid. And I’m going solo on his representation, but Matt’s going to help out with the research.”

“And thus the disagreement.” (Foggy fought to hold in a burst of inappropriate laughter and to keep his expression static.) “Out of curiosity, though, why pro bono?”

“Favor to Daredevil, who I guess felt like an asshole for causing this guy to get arrested.”

Foggy’s phone buzzed in his pocket, but he ignored it. He’d look at whatever Matt had deigned to text when he was done talking to Karen.

“Oh. Well, he did help us put Fisk behind bars. We might owe him a few favors for that.”

His phone buzzed again.

“We owe him something, but I’m not sure it’s favors.”

More buzzing.

Karen raised an eyebrow. “Well, if and when you want me to help with the case, just say the word.”

“Will do, Page.”

Satisfied that Foggy and Matt weren’t fighting again, and her curiosity presumably sated for the time being about the new case, Karen retreated back to her desk. She sat down and set herself to some self-appointed task which, based on the determined look on her face, might have had to do with either PR to get paying clients or the Almeida case. 

Seeing that Karen was sufficiently distracted by her work, Foggy pulled his phone out of his pocket. As he had guessed, he had received a short string of texts from Matt, because Matt seemed to think that eavesdropping on conversations between his friends was a legitimate use of his super senses.

_In my defense, usually muggers don’t go running to the police after they fail to mug someone._

_I will be happy to cash in all the favors you owe for you NOT getting your lunch from Sousa’s from here on out. The office always smells like onions for days afterward._

_Okay, so no favors. What about a round of drinks at Josie’s? Small price to pay for stopping Fisk, right? I’ll even let you call dibs on the eel._

Foggy scowled at the messages for a few moments before replying.

_The Sousa Onion Bomb is an intentional and strategic weapon in my arsenal. You’re lucky I don’t plan to deploy it as retribution for this morning._

_And who are you kidding? I almost always buy drinks._

_But because I am a good guy, I’ll let you have the eel next time. :)_

(Matt always turned down the eel, and usually stayed far away from the liquor in which it swam unless he was already too drunk to protest. Foggy suspected he could sense something in the bottle which deeply offended his enhanced senses.) 

There was no immediate reply, and Foggy picked up the Almeida file again to get back to work. A minute or so later, as he was starting to really get into the meat of the complaint, his phone buzzed again.

_An alcohol-pickled sea creature of my very own. Just what I always wanted. Bemused face._

_(Stop sending emojis you know I can’t see them and they confuse my screen reader)_

Foggy couldn’t help but laugh as he sent Matt a string of poop emojis in retaliation.

***

“You drank the eel!” Karen crowed delightedly. 

She, Foggy, and Matt had squeezed together around a small table in their favorite bar, Foggy and Karen on one side and Matt on the other. The table had been a little sticky but otherwise clean and empty when they arrived. Now, it was filled with mostly empty glasses of various sizes, as well as a large, dark-tinted bottle which once held a large amount of alcohol of mysterious origin and one alcohol-infused marine animal.

“I did.” Matt nodded, amiably. “It was disgusting, but I’m sooo drunk. I could almost ignore its disgunsing-ness.”

Matt’s tie was loose and his hair was mussed. His glasses were slightly crooked on his face, but were secure enough to still shield his eyes. Drunk and happy was a good look on him, Foggy mused, and one that showed up far less often than he’d like.

At Foggy’s insistence, the trio had gone straight to Josie’s after they finished up that evening. It had been a couple days since they picked up Luis Almeida’s case and Foggy was glad to say that they had been a couple very productive days. True to his word, Matt had been helping Foggy put together the case and seemed to be working away at a solution to the Daredevil-has-to-testify problem. For his part, Foggy had been working diligently at putting together a theory of the case that would look good in front of a jury, with or without vigilante testimony—though really, much of that was hypothetical until his meeting with Mr. Almeida, which was scheduled for tomorrow. 

“You’re welcome, buddy,” Foggy told him. “And congras—congrads- mazel tov! You’ve drunk the eel so now you’re officially a member of Nelson, Murdock, and Page.”

“I was a founding member, I’m a partner--” Matt protested.

“Nuh uh!” Interrupted Karen. “Foggy’s right, this makes it official.”

“Could it have been unofficial a little longer?” Matt asked. “I can’t get rid of the eel taste.”

“Well then you should be rewarded for that terrible burden,” stated Karen. 

She stood up somewhat precariously from her barstool, made her way to the other side of the table, and threw an arm around Matt’s shoulders. She considered him for a moment, a drunk yet serious look on her face, and then pressed a kiss to his cheek.

Matt’s responding grin seemed to take up his entire face. Foggy could almost see the smile-lines around his eyes, even through his dark glasses.

 

Foggy smiled in response, and drained the last of his beer. He cast a glance at the table, cluttered but with a conspicuous lack of libations.  
“Hey, looks like we’re empty. Wanna do us a _favor,_ Matt, and get the next round?”

Matt grumbled, but gripped his cane and made his wobbly way to the bar. Karen smiled at Foggy and took it upon herself to help guide Matt to the bar but, honestly, she wasn’t much steadier than he was at the moment. They returned to the table a few minutes later, and Matt placed a martini glass in front of him with a flourish. Foggy eyed Matt and Karen, who had opted simply for a couple more bottles of beer, with confusion.

“Um?” He asked.

Karen shrugged, looking confused but not really bothered about it.

Matt gave him a shit-eating grin. “Thought you might like to try something new. A Gibson. Josie made it special.”

Foggy looked a little closer, and saw the martini was garnished with onion. Though it was really kind of gross biting into the pickled onion (who knew where Josie got it from, and how long it had been there), Foggy took great relish in ‘accidentally’ breathing right into Matt’s face periodically for the rest of the night.

***

The next afternoon, Foggy fought not to show how awful and hung over he felt as he showed Luis Almeida into his office. It was a struggle not to wince in time with his throbbing headache, which had stuck since he woke at 8:17, no matter how much water he drank. At least he no longer felt the urge to run to the bathroom or garbage can every three minutes. Sometimes, Foggy doubted how anyone could take him seriously as a lawyer—especially when he staggered into his office trying to hide the aftereffects of another Thirsty Thursday. He was, at least, better at being a real adult person than Matt, who was known to throw on red spandex and devil horns when the mood struck, and who this morning had called in ‘dead probably killed by a pickled sea creature.’ Foggy sent a prayer that Matt’s hangover had him immobilized and unable to even think about putting devil horns on top of his hopefully massive headache. 

Regardless, Almeida had been a hard enough sell before the arraignment, suspicious of a strange lawyer from a private firm showing up out of the blue and volunteering to take his case for free. Foggy couldn’t afford to reschedule or make a bad impression now, nevermind how corpse-like he felt at the moment.

When Almeida arrived, Foggy asked him how he was doing (“fine”), asked him if he wanted anything to drink (“no”), and tried to make small talk as he accompanied him to his office. (Unsuccessfully.) Almeida’s frowning face took in Foggy and the small, somewhat shabby office skeptically.

Foggy settled back behind his desk after closing the door behind them to give the impression of privacy. He flipped to a new page of his legal pad, turned to the first page of the complaint against Almeida, and turned to face his client. He chose not to pick up his pen yet, instead folding his hands together on top of the desk, to show he was ready to listen to the man across from him. When a few more moments passed without anything said by Almeida, Foggy internally conceded that this client really didn’t want to meet him in the middle, and that he’d have to take a few more figurative steps himself.

“Mr. Almeida, I know we spoke briefly before your arraignment, but I asked to meet with you so we could go over what happened in more detail. The more you can tell me about what happened that night, the better our shot to prove that you’re not guilty.”

Almeida kept the same skeptical expression as he glared at Foggy and then finally spoke.

“Can you stop bullshitting me and just tell me what your game is?”

“Mr. Almeida--”

“I’m not a lawyer but I’m not stupid and I’ve been through this enough to know how it works. I didn’t even get a chance to ask for a public defender. I didn’t ask for you and you say you don’t want money. Stop screwing me around.”

Foggy exhaled deeply and ran a hand over his face. He stared at Luis Almeida another moment before deciding to be as blunt as his new client had chosen to be.

“Short version? Daredevil is an idiot.”

Unsurprisingly, that explanation didn’t seem to do much to clarify things for Almeida.

“Last year, this firm did a lot of work, trying to protect people in this neighborhood from Wilson Fisk. I can’t give you details, to maintain confidentiality for our other clients, but it worked out that we sometimes ended up coming into contact with Daredevil, who apparently decided we have some kind of weird partnership arrangement.

“Sometimes he asks Nelson and Murdock for favors or refers us to people who need help. That’s what happened with you because, frankly, he felt like a dick for basically getting you arrested.”

“And, what, he’s the one paying you?”

“Not so much. This really is pro bono as a favor for Daredevil, but one way or another he’s promised to return the favor in the future. It’s an uh, unorthodox arrangement, I know, but it works. And I do really think we have a good shot at clearing your name here.”

Almeida crossed his arms across his chest and glared up at the ceiling, apparently mulling over what Foggy had just told him. As far as Foggy could tell, the ceiling probably wouldn’t be offering up any easy answers but he almost wouldn’t be surprised if a water mark on a ceiling tile suddenly became sentient and began spilling all of Nelson and Murdock’s secrets. It had been that kind of week. 

If Foggy was being honest with himself, Almeida had every right to be suspicious. For all that he tried being a good person and also tried to see the good in other people, he also had to recognize that people were generally crappy to one another, and those in the legal profession were not necessarily known for offering up their services for free. Still, he hoped Almeida would come around, and not only because he had promised Matt that he would take the case.

Finally, Almeida looked back at Foggy and sighed.

“Okay. Fine. I’ll go along with this for now. But if you aren’t completely legit, or you do try to screw me, I will file a malpractice complaint in half a second. Just so you know.”

“Great!” said Foggy with just a touch of false cheer. “Let’s get started, then. Now,” he shuffled a few papers on his desk and brought out a legal pad filled with hand-written questions, “I’m going to need you to walk me through every detail you can remember about what happened on Tuesday morning.”

***

Some time later, Foggy slumped back in his chair, eyes closed, and loosened his tie. His jacket lay across his desk where he had tossed it moments before, crumpled and in need of an iron. He had just finished his interview with Almeida and shown him out of the office a few minutes before, and was now giving his mind a chance to rest briefly before jumping back in to the thick of case preparation. 

He hadn’t been lying when he told Almeida he thought they had a good shot at a not-guilty verdict. Just like when Matt persuaded him to take the case, however, the main hurdle of how to prove Daredevil’s involvement remained. What Almeida told him lined up pretty well with Matt’s description of events, but there was still a lack of other witnesses and no solid theory yet to get around any hearsay he’d need to introduce if they went the route the other attorney had suggested. At least Almeida had given him a pretty good description of the cross streets where the incident took place, so he could take a look around to see if anything jumped out at him. (Hopefully not literally.)

Foggy was so distracted with this legal dilemma and his persistent but finally fading hangover that he completely missed the creak of his office door opening and the sharp click of heels making their way across the floor. As a result, when Karen spoke a moment later to ask how the meeting went, he yelped and almost fell out of his office chair. 

“Oh!” Exclaimed Karen, clearly struggling not to laugh at his reaction, “I’m sorry, Foggy!”

He shot her a betrayed look. Her smile was bright and she looked perfectly put-together, as usual. Unfairly, it looked like she was one of those people who either didn’t suffer hangovers, or were able to let the effects slide right off of them. She was maybe a little tired around the eyes, but there was nothing to suggest she had spent any time hunched over a toilet last night or before she came in this morning. Foggy didn’t think he could ever wish ill on Karen, but misery loves company and he felt he couldn’t be blamed if he half wished that she could at least pretend to be as miserably hung over as he was. 

“It’s okay, I’m okay,” he told her as he fought to recover his dignity and disguise the fact that he was still feeling the effects of the eel alcohol and that awful drink Matt had bought him, “I was just lost in thought. What’s up?”

Karen, bless her, took the cue to ignore his embarrassing outburst. “Oh, nothing. I was just checking in to see how the meeting went. Anything you need me to follow up on?”

“The meeting was okay. He has a pretty sympathetic story, and I think when it comes down to it he’ll be a good witness for his case. I’m still stuck on what evidence we can gather to show that Daredevil was involved though—sympathetic as he might be, we need more than his word against the guy he was charged with beating up.”

Karen hummed thoughtfully and perched on the edge of Foggy’s desk.

“The problem is really finding an exception to the hearsay rule, right? So you can introduce Daredevil’s statements without him in court?”

Foggy nodded and sent her an inquiring look. 

“I was quizzing Matt earlier about the rules of evidence,” she explained. She gave a frustrated sigh and ran her hand through her hair. “There are ways around that, though, and with all the enhanced people who have been popping up lately, in New York alone, this can’t be the first time that a case has hinged on the word of someone reluctant to appear in court due to having a secret, super-heroic identity.”

“Maybe,” he agreed, “though can you imagine how fun it would be to be the attorney to craft the Cape Defense?”

“The Cape Defense?” Asked Karen, smiling. “I think you need to work on framing your argument, counselor. And come up with a better name.”

“I could come up with worse,” he told her. “The If-the-Cape-Fits-You-Must-Acquit Defense. The Mask-And-Tights Defense. The Batman Defense. Oh—I know, the Dance-With-The-Devil Defense!”

“Stop! Stop!” Laughed Karen, “It’s a good thing I’m the only one who knows what dorks you and Matt are. The world would never take you seriously.”

“Does it take us seriously now?” He asked rhetorically.

“Oh, at least a little. I don’t think you’re at the point of needing to wear a cardboard sign telling the world why you should be ashamed of yourself, so you have at least a little ways to fall.”

Now it was Foggy’s turn to laugh at Karen. 

“What?” She asked, “I was bored on my lunch yesterday and looked at cute pet-shaming photos on buzzfeed. I’m only human.”

“Buzzfeed lists can be hard to resist,” agreed Foggy. “If you’re interested in helping out, though, Almeida gave me the general area where Daredevil jumped Robert Clark last Tuesday. Want to come along and see if we get any leads?”

Karen was quick to agree, and within a few minutes they left the office, walking leisurely towards 53rd and 10th. Foggy found that being out in the open air, in natural sunlight, helped alleviate his headache a little more, for which he was extremely grateful. Eventually, the pair came to the cross section where Foggy thought the confrontation must have happened, and he felt finally felt ready to get to investigating. 

The street was populated with lots of small businesses, including restaurants, a barber shop, a book store, and boutique clothing store, as well as a bodega or two. Nearby, a few people were waiting at a bus stop for the number 11 bus to come around, with varying degrees of patience. Walking slowly down the street, Foggy made note that most of the stores closed well before the time the assault took place, which likely ruled out any late-night stragglers as eye-witnesses. Nevertheless, Foggy held out hope that there was good evidence to be found. 

Karen and Foggy exchanged glances, and walked into the barber shop to see what evidence they could unearth.


End file.
